


Burn All the Calendars

by katwithallergies



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katwithallergies/pseuds/katwithallergies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One of the great ironies of losing your memory is that the feeling of waking up and not knowing where you are or how you got there is one thing that stays with you."  These are some things from the year Richard Hammond forgot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn All the Calendars

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains content relating to Richard Hammond's head injury sustained in 2006. It could be seen as a sort of companion piece to ["On the Day That I Forget You"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/323054) but the two don't perfectly mesh and this can definitely be read alone. Thanks to [Greyson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/greyson) for the beta.

_"On the day I become so forgetful  
that all of this melts away_ _  
I will burn all the calendars that counted the years_ _  
down to such a worthless day"_ _  
-Mountain Goats_  
  
  
 _June 9, 2007_  
One of the great ironies of losing your memory is that the feeling of waking up and not knowing where you are or how you got there is one thing that stays with you.  Richard pressed his face into the pillow he was lying on and smelled cologne and fabric softener and other smells his mind informed him were "home" and "safe".  
  
He cracked his eyes and looked around the sun washed room.  There was his jacket thrown over a chair.  Gaudy plaid window drapes.  A pile of laundry by the bathroom door.  A man in the bed beside him, long grey hair falling over his face.  James.  
  
Ah, yes.  He remembered.  He was doing this now.  
  
Having an affair.  
  
Sleeping with a man.  
  
Shagging James.  
  
All those things.  He sat up, stretched his arms over his head and cracked his shoulders.  He still couldn't remember how he got here.  
  
James snuffled and spat hair out of his mouth. He blinked in the light and smiled at Richard.  
  
"I stayed over last night?"  Richard asked.  
  
"You don't remember?" James asked, pulling himself to a sit. Richard shook his head and plucked at James' plum colored sheet pooled in his lap.  "We stayed home and grilled steaks for dinner?  Then we watched episodes of Doctor Who on the telly until we got sleepy.  Then we... came to bed."  He studied Richard's face for any flicker of recognition.  "None of that rings a bell?"  Richard just shook his head.  "Is it getting worse?"  
  
"Hard to say, isn't it?"  They both knew it was.  They sat in the silence and let the cool morning air make prickles on their skin.  "When did we go to London and visit that shop with all the wind up toys in the window?"  
  
"Tuesday."  
  
"Which was...?"  
  
"Four days ago.  It's Saturday."  
  
"Right."  Silence again.  
  
  
 _A week later, June 16th, 2007_  
Richard preemptively slid his arm tighter around James’ chest, then blew on the wisps of hair behind his ear and watched them dance.  
  
“Ahh!” James clamped one big hand over his ear and cursed into the pillow.  “That tickles!  Little prat.  If you don’t behave I won’t let you be the big spoon any more.”    
  
“But I don’t like being the little spoon! I’m always the big spoon--” Richard caught himself, realized he’d brought up Mindy again.  Even though James hadn’t told him not to he felt like it must be impolite to mention your wife in bed with your lover.  He tried to swallow over the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.    
  
James rolled enough to see him.  “Tell me,” he said.  
  
“I love her.” The admission felt like something shameful.  “I love her so much, I can’t even put words to it.”  
  
James reached up to catch his tears.  “I know,” he said.  
  
“I shouldn’t be here.  I’ve become _that_ husband.”  He scooted away from James, pulling his knees up.  “She-- she wanted to make me all better after the crash. Because she’s my wife, and because she loves me.  But I couldn’t  _be_ all better. I tried.  And... if I love her and she loves me why can’t I live with her trying to fix me?”  Richard listened to the rumble of a passing lorry.  “Why can’t I tell her that everything isn’t okay yet?”  He wasn’t making much sense.  He knew he wasn’t making any sense.  
  
James said nothing, just regarded him with sad, steady eyes and waited.  And honestly, that response was exactly why he was here in James’ bed and not at home.  He lay back down and snugged his head in tight to James’ back.  
  
“Don’t let me go, James.  Don’t let me lose myself.  Keep me here,” he begged.  
  
  
 _About a week later, still June, 2007_  
Richard probed at the empty place like feeling over a lost tooth.  He felt the tender, swollen depression where a memory used to be and ran over the sore edges that remained.  He couldn't recall what it had felt like to have something there.  He wondered what he would forget tomorrow.  Wondered if he would miss it.  
  
  
 _June 25, 2007_  
James straddled Richard's knees and leaned down hard on his hips, bearing him into the mattress while he sucked him off.  The purple sheets bundled up under Richard's back as he shifted on the bed and made an uncomfortable knot; the sweat that broke out of his chest turned cool and brought up goosebumps in contrast to the wet heat of James' mouth.  
  
Richard focused on the completeness of the moment.  He was simultaneously aware of every particle in his body.  Nothing missing, no gaps.  He gasped; James grinned at him and went down again.  
  
Richard willed himself to remember this moment, this feeling.  He would never forget the perfection of being in James' mouth.  Of being whole and complete and loved.  Surely he couldn't forget this.  He wouldn't.  
  
  
 _A few weeks later, July 12, 2007_  
“Hammond?” James voice quivered on the question and he stood frozen with one hand on his open driver’s door watching Richard walk away across the car park.  “Aren’t you going to ride back with me?”  
  
Richard turned a circle in the middle of the car park, plainly lost.  “Where’s my car?”  
  
“You rode with me, don’t you remember?  Your car’s at mine.”  James clenched both hands over the door to hide their tremor.  
  
“I-- I’m sorry.  Of course.”  Richard smiled, his on-camera smile, and crossed to the passenger door shaking his head.  He paused with his hand on the lever and looked at James. “Why is my car at yours?” His expression was one of complete trust, but complete bafflement.  He knew James was telling him the truth, he just couldn’t remember how they’d gotten here.  
  
“Ahhh--” James got into the drivers seat to buy himself some time.  He had to reach across and pop open the other door for Richard, who was still standing outside looking adrift.  “You’re kipping at mine during the week... To avoid the long drive.  Till you feel better, that is.”  He chose his words carefully and watched Richard’s reaction as he climbed into the car for any sign he remembered what James hadn’t said.  Nothing.  
  
“Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.”  They left the studio in silence, tense on James’ side and empty on Richard’s.  
  
“Richard?”  James said after six minutes passed (he’d counted).  “You’re, well, I mean, we’re... ah.  You’re kipping in my bed.  With me. Actually.”  They rolled to a stop at a signal; James turned to watch Richard chew on his lip.  
  
“You mean we’re together?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Richard nodded.  “Makes sense.  I’ve certainly thought about it enough.  And Mindy and I are....?”  
  
“Good. The same.  She doesn’t know.”  
  
“Okay,” Richard molded his slim form into the seat back as James accelerated.  “Good.”  He stared out the window and the silence pressed on them again.  
  
James started to reach for his hand and stopped himself just in time, covering his abortive gesture with a cough.  “It’ll be okay, mate,” he said, to reassure himself as much as Richard.  “You’ll remember tomorrow.  You usually do.”  
  
Richard nodded.  
  
  
 _Later that day, still July 12, 2007_  
Fusker leapt onto Richard’s chest, waking him from his nap.  He rubbed the cat’s ear while he looked around the room, grateful for once that he remembered where he was and how he’d gotten there.  
  
James stepped into his view, leaning over the couch back.  He reached down tentatively to stroke the cat.  
  
“It’s okay.  I remember,” Richard said.  James’ shoulders fell slightly and he slid his hand up into Richard’s hair.  “The doctors, do they know if it’s going to get better?  What do they say?”  
  
James cleared his throat.  “They say it will get better eventually.”  
  
“Are they sure?”    
  
James shrugged.  
  
Richard stared into Fusker’s yellow eyes.  “Who will I be then? I wonder.”    
  
  
 _July? Or maybe August.  Still 2007_  
His life was becoming a collection of moments, a senseless montage from an unknown movie.  The strangest thing was that it wasn't his distant memory, it was only recent.  He remembered the day before the accident like it was yesterday, right down to the grocery list he'd been compiling in his head.  He remembered what Mindy had worn to his uncle's mid-summer cook out over a year ago, but he couldn't remember what they'd filmed last week.  
  
All the memories since the accident fell like beads from a broken necklace onto glass.  They bounced toward him with nothing to connect one to the next, just isolated moments.  
  
Here he was watching TV with Mindy, here making pancakes with James.  Here he was talking about a new Ferrari, here blowing James in the back seat.  Here he was running the girls a bath, here in James' bed with Fusker purring on his chest.    
  
On a good day he remembered the big stuff.  James, for one.  Whether they were filming or on break. The season and the year.    
  
On a bad day he was lost from morning till night.    
  
On the worst days no memories came and he was alone in the void between August and now.  Richard was afraid.  
  
  
 _September 13, 2007_  
Richard rubbed his palms on his jeans and turned his big, earnest eyes on James.   "I need to ask you, mate.  Did we ever... ahh.  I mean were we ever... more than mates?"  
  
"Ah, that.  No,"  James said, ever so carefully, just like he'd practiced.  Richard let all his air out in a big whoosh and sank back into the sofa and James knew he'd made the right call.  This was what Richard needed; this was the best gift he could give him.  "We talked about it, but you could never do that to Mindy and the girls."  
  
"Good," he almost laughed with relief.  "Good on me.  Thanks.  You're a good mate.  Best anyone could have."  He levered himself to his feet and clapped James on the shoulder as he passed.  "Back to work, then."  
  
James waited until he heard the door snick closed to let his heart break.


End file.
